


In Spite Of

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-29
Updated: 2004-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things prove to be complicated for Dominic while on set filming <i>Lost</i> as an infatuation with a co-star smacks of mistakes in the past. A mistake that comes back to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Spite Of

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).  
> \----
> 
> A/N: The kinktastic smut bomb lands. Beta’d by the goddess that is Canciona. This was spawned by the whims of Beizy and Domhobbitzes with a HUGE chunk of encouragement from Miss Canciona as well. My first attempt at slashing Dom with a member of the Lost Cast, written in a series of comment “tigs” in my lj. Tiny mention of a song lyric from _Blind_ by Korn.

Harold POV:

Heh, he was too old for that kinda bullshit, really. A grown ass man-- _married man_ , with kids, fuckin' around, eyeballin' a man--boy, even.

He thought he'd stopped that shit when he'd gotten married.

But then Dom bit into the ribs with a flourish, sauce glimmering wetstickyred on that patch of hair on his bottom lip that poked out, and Harold found himself shifting in his seat, and reasoning a little.

Hell, he was married, but a man can _window shop_ , right?

Just...chill, he'd just chill, and he'd get through this damn thing, just fine.

Dom smiled up at him, beads of sweat slickslide down his long buttery tan neck, and Harold smiled back.

Oh, hell no.

Hot damn, but he was glad to have worn lose shorts instead of the denim he first thought to wear, because right, heh. Heh.

And then Dom – Dommie as he'd heard that Scottish dude call him – Dommie polished off that damp glass of lemonade, and smacked his lips, punctuated by a raspy rumbling, "AHHHH."

Harold was only half aware of Evangeline leaning next to him, until he could smell her hair--coconut and some sweet scented flower, and her prescence nearly made him jump out of his skin.

_Shouldn't feel so guilty._

If she thought he was guilty, she didn't say it; she just smiled, and looked at him, her eyes glittering and roving from Dom to Harold.

"He's something, isn't he?" She smiled, looking on with genuine fondness.

"Oh yeah. A real piece of work." Eyes back onto Dom, who was lifting up Jill, the makeup lady's little girl, his shirt riding up a little. God, but the sun shouldn't _absorb_ into his skin so well, shouldn't highlight every dip and quiver of muscle so fucking well, if he did say so himself.

And he said so.

Fuck.

"What did you say?"

"Me? I didn't say anything." She laughed lightly, and pressed thin fingers to his head. "You alright? You look..."

Not pale, he couldn't look pale to save his damn life.

"Hot, I look hot."

"I was thinking more sweaty." She wrinkled her nose and pointed to the deep vee of damp fabric on the front of his shirt.

Dom was bending backwards now—literally—for the girl, his big hands splayed in the yielding sand as he pressed his weight full on, and started walking backward on his hands.

Yielding, huh? Huh. Not that Harold was going to think of those hands splayed on his back, the sharp contrast of his creamy skin on his, because he wasn't.

Besides. He sniffed. Maybe Dom wasn't into black guys. S'not like _he'd_ ever seen Dom give him a second glance.

That is, unless he was imagining things when Dom just winked after righting himself.

Friendly. That was a friendly gesture.

Then why, god _why_ were Dom's lips parted, and did he just see Dom's tongue dart out and lap his bottom lip?

"You're so not paying attention to me, Harold!" Evangeline laughed, swatting his arm with a sticky slap, before rising from her spot in the sand next to him.

"Huh? No! I, I--"

"Was distracted." She winked and made her way over to Matt. He was usually better company anyway.

Usually.

He must have been really watching her and Matt chat hard, because he knew damn well Dom was just over there with what's her name's girl, not...two minutes ago. (Thirty seconds?)

"Hey!" Long arms, digging into the sand, back until he was resting on his elbows, legs crossed out in front of him.

Smile. Find a smile, you dumbass!

"HEY!" Hmm. Probably a touch loud. "When did you get here?"

Just blame it on the liquor. Beer. Yeah.

’Cept there was a problem.

He didn't drink no damn beer.

Wait. Dom was sayin' something. Focus.

"...so then she had to go to the ladies and clean up. But...it's alright. Kids, you know."

Oh, but did he ever.

"Yeah, I heard that."

"Speaking of which, where's the family?"

"Oh, uh..." Where _were_ they? God, he was a fucked-up man..."Oh! Back on the mainland! Visiting friends in New York! They got a bit homesick."

Dom looked down, silver glinted fingers making fading shapes in the sand.

"Yeah. I know what it is to be homesick."

That look, it was almost as if...

"What? You missin' someone, Monaghan?"

"Me? No. I'm not missin' anyone..."

Heh. Maybe if he kept tellin' himself that...not that Harold was there to be his goddamned therapist, because he wasn't.

And he didn't care, not really.

"I ain’t missin' you at all!"

Yeah, he was always told he could sing...but damn, it wasn't that funny...

"You're a riot, Harold." Then why were Dom's eyes so dark? And why did he keep fuckin' with that bit of hair below his lip? What did it ever do it him?

Someone drummed up some music—Marley, it sounded like, and before Dom could say more to him, he was being tugged up by his arms, to dance.

Heh, never pegged Matt for a Marley fan.

"Come on, man. Let's see what Alvin taught you."

Yeah, he could go for that.

 

Dom POV:

Bloody unbelievable.

Harold was shaking his arse to Marley.

Harold "I've been Mecutio and I can spit Shakespeare like water" was holding Matt's arms, waving them back and forth in a pitiful attempt to show the other man how to groove.

And he looked damn good doing it, if Dom said so himself.

And he did.

Gah, but why did the man have to wear white so much? White, which reflected all light up, only to be absorbed back onto Harold's skin, baking deep brown, and smooth. Too smooth. Dom had never seen skin so smooth, actually, not even...not even other people.

And truth be told, Harold made him kinda nervous. He had these cheekbones that sat so high, when he curled his lips, it was damn near impossible to determine if he was smiling...or grimacing at him.

And his eyes. Dark--black almost, and thoroughly unreadable.

And when he smiled? Wow. Brilliant white teeth, strong and big, the kind of mouth you'd feature in toothpaste commercials or summat.

Certainly not the kind of mouth Dom imagined wrapped around...anything, hell, his finger, for example.

Because, as Dom knew, Harold was quite taken, and _part of the cast_ , and he’d learned well the merits of going down that ally already.

Namely that there were no merits.

But still, a man could look, right? Even if there never were any looks back.

Except that one time, last Tuesday on the beach. During the crisp, wee, magenta hours of dawn, when all of Oahu was cool, and poised for the balmy heat of the day.

Balmy, that's what this music was. Balmy, kinda like the way Dom had felt when he'd seen a flash of dark eyes against ebony, a glittering gaze that lasted only as long as it took Dom to realize he'd been looked at.

Heh. Maybe Harold did appreciate the scenery.

Or maybe it was just bad lighting.

"You alright, Dommie?"

When would he not have to stifle a cringe when people called him that? _When_??

"I'm fine Evey. Just watchin' those two pissed sods."

Evangeline had such a pretty laugh. Light as her eyes and sweet as her disposition. He was always glad to make her laugh, because it was a pale glimmer of...of old times.

"Actually, Harold's not drunk at all."

Oh?

"Really."

God, but he hoped he was imagining the cat-like grin plastered across his face.

"Nope. He's got to drive home, he said earlier, so it's just been soda and iced tea for him."

Home. Yeah...

"So, you going to join them, or just sit back here drooling all night?"

Drooling? Dom Monaghan does not drool.

"Oh? Wipe your shirt then, love."

Thin hands pressed down the front of his tee.

Oh.

"It's not--"

"Just go."

And when had she gotten to be so damned strong, eh?

"Hey, Dom, you going to get off your ass and dance or what?"

"I'm coming."

Just as soon as he had another beer. He needed beer if he was going to be inches from a hot damp Harold, and not touch. Look, but don't touch.

...And if Harold wanted this plan to work, he'd have to stop hovering his hands a breath away from Dom's skin. It was most distracting to have those hands just so and not get the gratification of the solid press against his waist.

Not that Dom wouldn't mind a solid press against his hips either but he knew that wasn't gonna happen.

God, but he was so wrong in his head, he really ought to stop this. Go back to the sand with the kiddies, where it was safe.

Stop imagining his hands tangled up in Harold's hair, as he lapped that smooth neck, testing to see if he was tasty as he looked. He knew his hair was soft--had felt it once when Harold leaned against his shoulder, during one of the more rowdy pictures taken back in Los Angeles at the Disney thing.

Yeah, his hair was soft, curly and dry against his neck, and Dom still felt the shivers ripple down his skin.

Still.

"You like Marley, Dom?"

Harold POV:

"Yeah, yeah! I like Marley. Love him, actually."

Yeah, right. He probably had one tape back in the eighties. Harold could remember owning the LP _and_ the eight track. They just didn't make music like that anymore.

The kind of music that started with a deep boom chica boom boom clang of the guitar, and then the hollow noise of more drums before Marley's voice croak-lulled into the mic, tellin' it like it is.

Yeah. They didn't make music like that anymore.

When had it gotten to be so dark?

"S'cause summer's endin'. In the tropics, sunsets seem to last for hours, and then you turn around, and--"

You're bathed in deep aqua blue, with a magenta glow all around, the stars glimmering over head.

"You have this most beautiful moonrise. S'okay, because the moon is just as nice as the sun."

Sure was. Especially when Dom's skin sparkled in the fire and moonlight.

"You look tired, Dom."

And he did. Always staring out at that ocean as if it would offer all the answers to whatever was going on behind those sea-grey blue eyes of his.

"I am. This fire and the dancing's made me hot."

No, Harold was pretty damn sure Dom was hot before the fuckin' fire.

"You wanna take a walk? Get some air?"

"Walk?"

"Yeah man, put one foot in front of the other? We could even take a fishin' pole with, and see if we can get JJ a guppy."

Big huge grin, ripping across his face. Not that Harold has been waiting for it or anything, because he hasn't. He was just...being friendly-like.

"Yeah, let's go."

The sand felt pretty good beneath his toes, dry and cool, and a sharp contrast for the hot damp squish he felt at the back of his neck. Dom walked in step beside him, his face low, and shadowed by the faint traces of fire and moonlight, and Harold suddenly questioned what on earth possessed him to volunteer for this brand of torture.

And then Dom looked up, face cracking into a shy smile, and some magnetic pull lurched at his belly, right at his bellybutton even, and he smiled in return.

Yeah. He'd done this because the truth of the matter is, he had no control when he was with the boy.

"So what's on your mind, Dominic? Why all this pensive shit?"

Harold didn't _really_ expect Dom to come out with the truth, but he had to admit the abject terror that crossed his face wasn't exactly on the menu either.

He closed up—like a clam, as the cliché goes—and looked down again, leaving Harold to contemplate the bluffs a quarter of a mile ahead of them.

"Nothing. Nothing."

Uh-huh.

Just beyond the brown rocks was a turn on the beach. The perfect spot for a tryst, and the very place Harold was not going to go. Not if he could help it.

"Fine. You like the food?"

Stick to a topic that was safe. He preferred to look at Dom without the other man talking to his toes.

 

Dom POV:

Walking. They were having a jolly stroll by the moonlight by the beach, and he was supposed to concentrate? Not going to happen.

First it seemed okay, just the requisite press through the sand, but then things turned sticky because Harold was asking questions, his eyes cutting into Dom--cutting into his skin, and suddenly Dom didn't really want to be walking anymore.

Thank God he switched topics to food. Dom could always discuss food.

"The ribs were amazing! Who gave you that recipe?"

Harold was visibly pleased. Good. It wasn't every day he managed to get his friend smiling like that.

"Oh? You like that?" His cheeks were full and high.

Dom grinned. "Oh yeah."

"That, Dominic was a secret recipe." He placed his warm arm on Dom's shoulder, his voice lowered.

The waves hit the shore, as Dom turned to smile back at Harold, and then it was like someone pushed the pause button.

Shite.

Talk. The proper thing was to talk, damnit, but that didn't mean Dom was capable of it.

Shite.

Was Harold breathing heavily too? Were their faces really an inch from one another?

Not for long, because Harold was digging his smooth nails into Dom's shoulder and pushing himself off, mumbling something about keeping steady in the sand.

Fuck.

He wasn't looking back as he walked ahead.

Fuck.

"Hey, you coming or what?"

Thank god, oh thank every deity. Okay, so he hadn't fucked it up, but then why the strange behavior?

Why did he care? Just go!

Faster, the sand against his feet and his short legs meant he needed to walk faster to keep up, because Harold was almost as tall as Orlando, and denser, thicker besides.

His eyes fell onto Harold's thighs, strong and covered in thin white gauze. He could see the skin underneath against the straining fabric, moving with every step.

He'd have to stop.

Harold ploughed on, going on about some beach he'd taken his wife and daughter to, and under normal circumstances Dom would have adored to hear the story--Harold was a good storyteller. But he had a problem. Harold's shirt lifted up when he talked, his arms moving animatedly, and when it did, a smooth brown patch of skin just above the waist of his jeans was revealed.

The moisture in Dom's mouth went on hiatus, his gazed fixed onto the scattered patch of hair that trailed down and beyond the waistband, and suddenly Dom forgot where the hell they were even going.

Harold POV:

There was definitely something wrong with Monaghan. They'd walked a good distance, were coming up to the bluff, while Harold had been telling one of the funniest Dad stories he knew, and had gotten not one giggle out of Dom.

Not even a chuckle, damn.

He knew sometimes single people really didn't give a shit about the cute things Jr. did, but he figured something like this was the sort of thing that would go over well with him, since he'd bonded so well with er...that girl's daughter.

Oh well.

They reached the bluff before them, Dom still quiet as a beat dog, and Harold felt his palms go dry. He'd have to smoothly suggest they turn around now, or he knew he'd make it crystal clear what he'd been babbling to forget feeling, but he didn't peg Dom as the kind of guy that would walk away from the unknown. In fact, Harold bet Dom would go right for the danger, reckless like his character, which is why he'd probably been cast.

Sure enough lit up for the first time in a few minutes, Dom peeped over at the edge of the rock face, eyes glittering at the turn, and then started off without question, assuming Harold would follow.

Damnit.

Of course he followed. Why wouldn't he? He was a grown man, he could go behind a bluff with another person and it not lead to anything.

And that would have went all great and dandy except Dominic was as clumsy bastard, and as soon as he rounded the corner he stubbed his toe and flailed ungracefully as he fell.

Which of course meant Harold had to lunge and help him. He did, caught him solidly in his arms, but then he could smell him, hair gel, musk, and the faint sweet of the sauce and his stomach coiled.

God, but he wanted to kiss him.

What?

He could too, he could see that now that he was soclose to Dom's face. He saw him lick his lips, his fingers bunched up grabbing Harold's shirt.

He could press his lips right onto Dom's mouth, and he knew Dom wouldn't object to it.

So why didn't he?

Why didn't he right now, he could feel Dom's breath against his lips, hear the soft quick inhale, when Harold's eyes roved down, so why didn't he just do it.

Once he thought about it, he could see it too, actually. He could feel how Dom's lips would be dry and soft, and if he lapped his tongue out, he'd taste BBQ sauce and the tang of lemon. He could feel his hands too, latched onto Dom's neck, as they crashed against each other. Their kiss wouldn't be a gentle soft kiss—hell no, it'd be on the verge of violent. It'd be with hipbones digging into each other, and the grains of sand rubbing bare skin raw as their lips came together so fast they bruised and smacked.

Yeah, he could kiss Dom right now.

But he wouldn't.

Dom POV:

Thinking. He was supposed to be thinking, and speaking besides. But he couldn’t, no fucking way, because here was Harold giving him a look that sent a lick of fear up his throat, and made the back of his head hurt for remembering.

He well knew the danger of falling for this trick, a play of position and a pervasive silence, and knew the danger of the long term consequences.

Yeah, consequences came from acting on a whim, he remembered that didn't he?

Consequences such as the inability to ever be able to return to a location because the memory of the who and what happened fouled up the place so badly he could choke on regret.

No, he wasn't going to act on this. He wasn't.

But then why was he leaning closer?

"Hey, Dom." Harold’s voice was low, not much more than a whisper, and his fingers rested lightly over Dom’s collarbone, fingertips sending shivers down his spine.

Yeah. Time to move out of the way—move _away_ , more accurately.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I'm a klutz, as it happens."

"Yeah," A brittle laugh. "Happens to the best of us.

And then there was distance between them, too much more space than was needed to brush of sand and regroup, and Dom felt his shoulders sag.

He cleared his throat. Time to come clean here, assure him, like he'd had to do with so many others.

"Hey, Harold." His hand fell to the back of his head, scratching nervously. "I mean, I ah, I guess what I'm trying to say is um."

"You haven't said a whole lot of anything, Dom."

Four beats and then Dom looked up, to see Harold's grinning face.

"Man, forget about it. You're shitfaced, and you'd poke any hole that came your way."

Great. Wonderful, play the drunk card.

"HA! Right. Ahem. Right."

Harold swung his arm around Dom. "Now, really before we join the fishes. Let's get back to the fire."

He didn't need to. The fire was right here.

Harold POV:

Man. That guy was going to have to stop looking at him like that, or this grand plan of perpetrating like he had no clue Dom wanted to jump him wasn't going to work.

And wow, heh. Fuck.

Guess Dom did do black guys, huh?

Try as he might to lead Dom back, the stupid bastard kept hesitating. Kept staring at him, at his mouth, like he knew Harold wanted to know what that mole on his neck tasted like.

And then leaning heavily into Harold, full body weight so the two almost fell to their knees. Harold prayed to god they didn't. Because if they did, he knew he'd have this dude naked and panting for him in a matter of minutes. Kept seeing the scene play in his mind too, as they staggered back, his dick so hard it was a wonder he could walk. Kept seeing Dom grasping into the sand, arm muscles tensing then relaxing, as Harold loomed over him, running his tongue up his stomach, pausing at his belly button.

Fuck.

They could make it. They could make it without Harold having to drop Dom's ass and hide behind a rock to jack off, because really now, he was...heh.

But Dom kept rubbing it in. Kept tangling his legs with his, so that he could feel Dom's bony ankles poke his, his slim hipbones digging too. He could hear the low rumbling noises Dom made as they huffed across the sand, neither used to the exertion of walking on the beach yet.

And at the thought of exertion the image of Dom's naked body flipped over, arching in the sand flashed before his eyes, and Harold became all about the strategic placement of arms and hands.

Dom must have felt him tense, because he looked down, as if Harold stepped on something.

"Hey look!" Point, damnit, point so he looks up and away. "We're not far from the fire now."

"Yeah." Dom breathed heavily. "Almost there, man."

Yeah, but he still saw it. Saw himself, biting now, teeth marking Dom's ass as his fingers teased down, admiring the curve and the depth. He saw himself kissing the bite, licking for apology, and then eyeing Dom's lower back and wondering if it was salty like that air.

He knew there would be only one way to find out.

Not that he was going to think about it, or anything.

Dom POV:

Right. So, Dom was pretty sure Harold was sporting a stiff one. He'd seen the ridge pressed against the pants, and was pretty damn sure it wasn't a banana, and the effect was like lightening straight to his cock.

Two problems here.

One: He couldn't act on the quite mutual attraction.

Two: He wanted to act on it, to feel it so bad his mouth watered.

He was walking with a man that he'd been telling himself not to want, and the man wanted him, too.

Fuck.

He kept his eyes downcast as he walked, (not because he was interested in watching Harold's erection bob with every step, because he wasn't) and against better judgment kept slyly leaning against Harold, liking the press of their bodies and staring.

He was sneaky about it yes, but he was still staring.

And liking what he saw.

In another world, he could touch it. He could stop Harold, and wrap his hands around that ridge, and just squeeze happy to hear the low grunt and then shove him onto the sand. He could shove his shorts down too, and Harold's and then press their bodies together, too impatient to do more than rub.

He could, he could even see how their bodies would contrast, and feel how firm Harold's thighs would be, pressed against his, but he also knew there was no sense in bothering.

Because at the end of this walk--which was a matter of feet in front of him, he'd have to let this...whatever die, and focus on work, focus on someone else.

Not on a man he couldn’t have.

One foot after the other. He'd just have to continue on a little further, and he could go home with his lizard (ha!) and get truly trolleyed in the privacy of his house with his preferred poison, and if his cock could still get hard enough, he could enjoy a nice wank on the couch, with only his bugs to bear witness.

He elected to forget that he did that now, and that it did nothing to improve his mood or desires, and merely reminded him just how much of a sorry sod he was.

Harold turned to face him, flashed an open smile, and patted him on the back, pulling him into a one armed hug.

"It'll be alright man, whatever's bothering you. Don't keep the long face."

Huh. Harold's hand slipped and settled on Dom's lower back, resting there a few moments before moving away, and Dom clamped his eyes shut miserably.  
He'd have to find a decent shag on this island, and fast, before he really did lunge onto Harold like a mad man.

"Here we are."

Harold POV:

Fucking Evangeline. She knew. He knew she knew, because he saw mischief glitter in her eyes, and her lips were curled up knowingly.

Well, he hated to be the one to tell her this, but she didn't know shit.

Dom plopped down on his belly next to her, resting his head on her thighs like a cat, and Harold swallowed, turning himself to chat up Joey from props. He'd do well to avoid Dom for the rest of this night, which, knowing their sleep patterns, wouldn't last much longer.

"Hey Joey! Man, where's my domino set!"

Joey, the dipshit, left his shit at home, which yeah, pissed him off, but not as much as he let on. He secretly used his misery (his throbbing dick) as a means to take it out on the gap-toothed bastard. He'd been asking for his shit for three weeks, and besides, he owed him five dollars.

Whatever.

Luckily, Joey was used to people giving him a hard time, and he took Harold's ribbing in stride, but Harold wasn't really noticing, because the whole time he was leaning on Joey, demanding this belongings, he felt eyes on him, burning a path down his back, and had to concentrate on not turning around and staring back.

Shit. This was for the birds, man.

He turned back to the fire. Dom’s head was still propped in Evangeline's lap, content to be petted by her long fingers, as they spoke in low tones. Matt had left already, claiming the kid needed rest, and Harold had to admit a twang of envy and guilt made his stomach roll.

Here he was lusting over some guy, and he'd not even had a chance to call his wife and daughter to see how they were doing. Did they miss him? Were they having fun?

The food was being packed up, and only a few drunk stragglers remained, nursing warm beer and trying to tell themselves they were sober enough to drive home. Which of course led to other people quietly offering to drive them home.

His eyes flitted onto Dom. He looked good and drunk now. The empty carcasses of a few beers were parked in a circle at his feet, and his cheeks were ruddy and looked sticky.

Yeah. Time to roll out.

"Well ladies and Dom, I'm off."

"Awwwww," Evangeline whined, lifting up a bit as she swept a curtain of waves off her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm tired, and when I call the wife it'll already be late, and I’ll wake her. So, um." Offer a ride. It's rude, you know there are people here who’re drunk. "If anyone has had a few, I can give em a ride home, but they gotta leave now."

His eyes rested only on Dom.

Dom POV:

He should get up from her lap and go with him. That's what this speech was about, right? 'Here's the invite to be alone in my car, so if you're up for a bit of fun, get your shit and go,' right?

’Cept something didn't feel right to Dom. Quietly as it was kept, he was a man of instinct and vibe, not of great reason, and he kinda knew that if he put one foot in that car, he'd have more reasons to drink at night. Nah. It was best he kept his distance from Harold for a few, keep him an honest man.

Because god knows Dom wasn't.

"I'm good. I want to stick around for a few, thanks."

Well, at least Harold looked a bit disappointed. It set off twisting feelings in Dom's stomach, but hey, at least he gave a shit.

Some people wouldn't have cared one bit. They would have shrugged, and lilted "As yeh like, Dommeh," and then buggered off alone, only to call, drunk, in the wee hours, rasping into the mouth piece of the phone, seconds before they hitched their breath, and came.

The effect of that memory was visceral, and he had to fold his legs to hide his discomfort.

"No problem, Dom. Anytime. Goodnight!"

He swung his keys on his finger, and turned to the parking lot.

Once he was well out of ear shot, Evangeline thwapped him on the head.

"’The hells wrong with you, eh?"

Dom shrugged. He knew better than to lie to her, but still, he didn't know her like that. Not enough to reveal ALL the reasons he'd not want to get in that car with Harold.

_Because the moment I stepped into his car, I'd be one step closer to ruining his life._

"I wanted to go with you. You can't be driving home alone at this hour," Dom sniffed.

"Dom. It's--" she checked her watch. "It's 9:30."

"Never too early to be forced off the road and killed."

"Gee. Thanks."

"Love to you, too."

She ruffled his hair, her eyes shining with an expression that plainly said she didn't believe him, but she was at least content to leave it be for now.

And so was Dom.

Harold POV:

The only thing about Hawaii—Oahu, to be specific—was the damn winding roads.

The moonlight was bouncing off the walls of the mountain he was driving against, and shimmering on the ocean to his right, but it did little to help light the way of the dark road before him.

To make matters worse streetlights were few and far between.

_Fucking island._

Harold didn't mind the dark, just like he didn't _mind_ water, but you put him in either alone, and he was bound to be a bit...uncomfortable.

It didn't help matters that he was still hard as a rock from the _look_ Dom had given him before he left.

Yeah, he didn't want to ride with him, did he? What was that about?

With one hand on the steering wheel, he scratched he back of his neck, sighing into the stickiness of the car.

It was nine-thirty, and he had a 20 minute drive home. If he waited until he got there...

Shit.

He dug for his cell phone and dialed his wife. Better to call late now than to not call at all, blaming the late hour of his return. That would lead to a easy-going ribbing, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be a big deal.

But tonight?

Tonight she'd prickle with intuition and he'd have to face some things.

Such as formally naming his attracting for Dom.

The phone rang two three times, and then she picked up with a raspy "Hello?"

"Hey, baby! I'm sorry it's late, but the damn BBQ just finished up, and I'm heading home."

That's it. Speak fast and easy, and she'll be too overwhelmed with the noise and your energy to think straight. She never was a morning person, after all.

"That's fine, hon. We just got to sleep ourselves."

Huh. Must have been out having fun, then. Part of him was a touch jealous he couldn't see their faces, watch his daughter marvel at the city he loved so well, but it wasn't like he wasn't enjoying himself here.

"Damn. So she's asleep, then?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry babe."

"No, no! It's okay." He switched highways, back to his house.

"Well, goodnight, baby. I love you."

"Night," He said, his face washing over the window like a ghost. "Love you, too."

He arrived home some 15 minutes later, alone, and feeling as sticky as the air.

Dom POV:

Evangeline loved to listen to heavy metal when driving. The darker the better, by her book, and thus she would barrel down the highway, windows open, while her hair trailed behind her, screaming along with whatever song she had tearing up her speakers, the volume so loud the lyrics were distorted and the quality of the song was lost.

Not that Dom minded.

Every time he'd been driven home by her, it was always on a day when her blasting music and seat-of-her-pants driving suited the mixture of feeling that squished deep in his chest. Sure, he held his breath as she rounded a corner, and gripped the "oh jesus bar" as she sped past a temple, ripping up a steep hill, screeching along with the music.

 _"Live a life that seems to be a lost reality. I can never find no way to reach my inner self. I'm staying low. How deep can I go in the ground that I lay? If I don't find a way to seek through the gray that clouds my mind. This time I look to see what's between the lines."_ She pounded her hands on the steering wheel, shifting gears so that she was pushing 90, and Dom stared out the window, watching the darkened countryside go by.

He was still aching, hungry, and the song itself didn't help matters.

It was just as angry and confused as he was.

"So, why aren't you fucking him tonight?"

Dom snapped around, his lips tight.

"Don't," he growled, shifting in his seat, and blinking fast.

Fucking beer.

"Fine." She dipped off an exit, her voice a hundred times lighter than the music she so loved, and sped down a street.

"Thanks."

For everything.

"I know." She murmured, squeezing his hand, as she slowed by the curb to let him out.

But she didn't really.

She sped off, the song changed, and Dom shook his head sleepily, as he stumbled up the steps to his flat, wondering what fangirls would think if they knew their idol was a closeted heavy metal fangirl.

Of course, what would fangirls think if they knew of his deviant...habits?

His fish tank was bubbling and humming loudly when he slumped onto the couch, his arms limp and his hair sticking to him. He was so **fucking** hot, but couldn't be arsed into doing something about it.

Besides, he was still hard, and wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to _walk_ into the bathroom.

God, but he needed to get laid, and soon.

He was too drunk for subtle pretense with his mind, his hand dove straight for his shorts, hard, and he cupped himself with a sleepy sigh. God, but this felt s-so good after all those fucking hours of behaving himself. He raked his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing, and pressed back into the couch with a low moan.

He bet Harold was home now, fast asleep in his big bed--curled around his wife's pillow to ease his conscience. While Dom was doomed to his saggy lizard-smelling couch, to have a wank in the light of a fish tank, and then stagger his trolleyed arse to bed, where he would wake up in the morning, disgusted with himself.

Gah, but he was a sick man.

His free hand raked his thighs, which was like a thunder clap to his mind, images of Billy on his knees in days gone by taking over. Billy, with his sharp teeth and even nails, who loved to dig into Dom's hot skin and nip, as his tongue loved him well. He could bring Dom to his knees with one stare, and every time he licked his lips, Dom would be stiff and ready, and the fucker knew it, he did.

His own hand slid slickfast down, gripping the base and then letting the sensation flare and blossom up, sparking at the head of his cock, as his mind wandered. Still he was remembering a particularly mind numbing blow job he'd received, his lips parted, Billy's name on the verge of spilling from his lips, but as he finally relented to speak his name, his mind played a trick on him, and suddenly, Harold was on his knees before him, his hands gripping the base of his cock, as his high cheeks hollowed and sucked him dry.

The effect of instant, his ass clenched as his hips snapped, and he howled, trying to last longer and not spill over himself.

His phone rang, vibrating insistently beside him, and years later he would never know what possessed him to check the call ID.

But he did. And then, a breath away from being released from the terrible tension that coiled in his belly he answered the phone.

"What do you want, Boyd?"

Dom felt the charge in the air change, his hand slowed, knowing that whatever Billy was going to say had been changed as soon as he heard the tone of Dom's voice.

Billy knew that voice and loved it well, in his way.

"Dom." He sounded like he'd knocked the wind out of him, and Dom silently celebrated. _Turnabout is fair play eh?_

"M'busy, Billy."

His hand pinched himself off, a mean streak in him wanting Billy to be fully aware when he came, let that cunt know what he was missing, off in Bonnie Fucking Scotland.

"I can tell." Ah, and there it was. The smug wooly tone, that in a blink of an eye would be like a whip crack, demanding Dom get on his knees and pleasure himself, or even worse, stop, and command his body to sleep.

"So? What can I do for you?" He didn't even hide his contented sigh as he cupped his balls, his feet digging into the carpet.

"Stop it, Dom, and talk me, you wanker." He was going for playful, but Dom knew better. Talking to Billy now was like brushing against the edge of a sword.

"Can't," he sighed. And he couldn't: a play of Harold draped across his lap swirling his tongue around Dom's head was making him tremble—that, and the burr of Billy in his ear.

"Dom." A pause, and a hitched sigh. "Stop." He left no room for argument.

Dom's hand sped up then, rebellion blooming. Yes, fuck yess, like that.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up, Boyd." Three more times, and then he felt himself snapping, and ohhgodfuckyesshit. "And come make me."

His breath hitched, and he bucked his hips, pressing "end" on the cell phone and he milked himself dry, too weak and charged to do anything but ride out the waves, and pass out on his smelly couch.


End file.
